Deadening The Pain
by Golffer5
Summary: Grissom misses Sara. Dealing with the pain of her leaving has driven him to the edge. Caution: Deals with alcoholism and the effect it has on loved ones.
1. Chapter 1

**Deadening the Pain**

**A/N: **A 2003 article published by the Cleveland Clinic Information Center reports; "Every year, depression afflicts more that 11 million Americans, but men account for only 1 in 10 diagnosed cases. Men tend to deny having problems because they are supposed to "be strong." They are less likely to show "typical" signs of depression, such as crying, sadness, loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities, or verbally expressing thoughts of suicide. Instead, men are more likely to keep their feelings hidden, but may become more irritable and aggressive."

Readers need not to worry; this is not headed for character death. I want to thank Cheryl for agreeing to Beta for me and supporting my decision to "tell truths".

I see her in a distance but am unable to move. I try calling out to her but only feel the muscles in my chest jerk. If I could lift my head she would see me. Bruno comes out from behind the bushes. He is barking. "Hush boy," I try to say, "You'll wake the neighbors." But once again, no sound comes from my mouth.

The bed is harder than I remember. I try to roll over to take the pressure off my shoulder and hip but I can't. The pillow is cold and rough against my face. I hear thunder in the distance. I should have closed the window before I went to bed. Why is she walking away from me? I need her help. I can't seem to sleep. I try to bend my toes but the sheet must be tucked too tight. I feel flushed and my stomach is cramping. I need to get up and relieve myself but I can't seem to gather my senses to do so.

The crickets are singing their nightly song and it's very loud. "BRUNO, quit that barking," I try to say. He must miss her too. The breeze is beginning to blow, and I can hear the rain in a distance. I'm beginning to shiver, but I feel like the blanket is wrapped too tightly around me. My tears are soaking my face and rolling into my ear. I am so cold. She is coming home; I can see the lights from the car.

"Gil", I hear from a distance. "Gil," louder this time.

"Come on buddy, get up, it's raining and you're soaking wet". Jim's voice is in my ear. "You can't keep doing this", he says as he reaches down grabs me underneath my arms. "You didn't even make it into the house. Didn't you hear Bruno barking at you?" Jim picks an unstable Grissom off of the front porch and leans him against the house as he fumbles to pry the keys from Grissom's clenched fist. "You're damn lucky it was me that came by and saw you laying here" Jim said, his frustration evident.

Jim maneuvers a drunken Grissom through the front door and back to the bedroom. "Come on man, work with me here," he mutters as he drags his friend's dead weight.

The best Jim could do was to direct Grissom's falling body across the bed and fold the bedspread over him. Shaking his head as he shuts the light out, Jim raises his voice, "This shit HAS to stop. Tomorrow you are getting help if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Deadening the Pain**

"_One of the most frustrating factors in dealing with alcoholism, as a relative, friend or professional, is it is almost always accompanied by a phenomenon known as "denial." If someone tries to discuss his drinking with him, he simply refuses to talk about it, or dismisses it as not a real problem. After all, he's a big boy now and he can drink if he wants to, it's nobody else's business." _

Quoted from an article written by Dr. Steven Gans, board certified in psychiatry and forensic psychiatry. Dr. Gans is an instructor in psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, and is also in private practice.

A/N; Thank you Cheryl for the beta. I may not know English, but I can help you with math anytime.

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The message indicator light glowed red and my heart skipped a beat. Without conscious thought, I depress the speaker and voicemail buttons in series.

The mechanical voice begins to give me instructions, instructions I've heard a million times before.

"Please enter your…" Without waiting for the end of the sentence, I enter my personal series of numbers.

"You have two new messages, to listen to…," _beep_. "To play your…," _beep._

"Gil," Brass' voice sounds tinny coming from the machine's speaker. "Jim. Call me when you get this message."

There is a momentary silence, then the mechanical voice again. "To delete this mess…," _beep. _"Message deleted. Next new message."

"Hi, it's me." My eyes slammed shut as Sara's voice reached out to me from across the miles. "I tried to call you last night, no answer. I'll try again after work."

Another silence and then, "To delete this message, press 3. To save this message press 7…," b_eep. _"Message saved."

My knees buckle slightly when I realize I missed her call. "Dammit," I mutter, "I have to get home earlier tonight." Still berating myself, I begin to unpack my laptop and hook up all the relative wiring. Logging on to the system, I download and print the assignments for the night. There are two B and E's and another case of grave robbing. That means the one from three days ago is no longer an isolated incident. Walking to the break room to hand out assignments, I look at my watch.

"Ok, we have a B&E in North Summerlin. Catherine, Greg, Happy New Year. Nick, you and Warrick cover the other B&E on Suburban Road. I'll take the grave robbing at Woodlawn."

Warrick extends his hand to accept the assignment, "Yeah…figures…bugs," he says, rolling his eyes as he smirks.

As the team moves in different directions, Grissom's cell phone rings. _Brass_ shows on the Caller I.D. Flipping the phone open, I snap, "Grissom."

"Gil, I'm at the Woodlawn Cemetery. Same MO as the previous one, but it looks like they were interrupted."

"On my way, Jim." I close the phone with a snap. I realize this night is going to busy and I can't hold back my sigh.

Arriving at the cemetery, Brass meets me with a nod. While recapping his initial walk through Brass offers, "Three sets of footprints found entering and exiting the grave site. The perps entered from East Owens and left in a hurry towards Foremaster. The victim is Janice Tarpin. Twenty-two years old, killed in a motorcycle accident. Buried a week ago."

I stare off toward the passing traffic on Foremaster Lane, letting my mind play over his words.

"Look, Gil, you didn't return my call. We need to talk," Brass murmurs lowly.

"Later Jim," I say, turning my attention back to the detective. "There's a lot to process and I'm down one CSI you know."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't have to tell me. It's the way you're handling it that bothers me. It's self destructive, been there, done that," Jim replies.

I place my kit on the ground and bend to open it. "I'm fine, Jim. Now let me get to work."

Night turns into day and day into night. I process everything necessary to start a serial case file. During that entire time my cell only rings twice. One call is from Catherine. The other is from Ecklie wanting to know if I need help. I don't bother to return either call but I can't stop thinking that I don't need help, I need Sara."

Driving home from dropping off the evidence, I check the volume on my phone. Then I check to see how much battery is left. The meter shows full.

I pull into the garage and the door closes behind me with a groan of grinding gears and rotating chain. My mind and body tell me I need to rest and I nod as I reach for the liquid narcotic wrapped in brown paper. "Rest," I murmur, "rest."


	3. Chapter 3

**Deadening the Pain**

A nightmare is a dream occurring during rapid eye movement (REM) sleep that results in feelings of inescapable terror, fear or extreme anxiety. This phenomenon tends to occur in the latter part of the night and oftentimes awakens the sleeper, who is likely to recall the content of the dream. Most nightmares may be a normal reaction to stress, and some clinicians believe they aid people in working through traumatic events. -Psychology Today

Just as dreams are unreal in comparison with the things seen in waking life, even so the things seen in waking life in this world are unreal in comparison with the thought-world, which alone is truly real. –Hermes

**A/N:** My greatest appreciation to my Beta, Cheryl. Sometimes we take the most precious things for granted. I want to make sure that I let you know, you are the one that molds this story into a piece of art. Kisses.

_

* * *

_

_My fingers are cramping as they hold the rope that is lowering me down into the cave. I can feel the moisture from the_

_intertwining fibers seep between my thumb and forefinger. My legs cramp as they encircle the rope leading me into the _

_darkness. I hear the high pitched calls from the bats that have made their home in the black cavern. My feet hit the spongy _

_floor and I strain my eyes to see in the dimly lit rocky arena. The hard shelled creatures of the shadows scurry around me. _

"_Gil." I hear my name in the distance. I try to move in the direction of the sound._

"_Who's there?" I reply to the indistinguishable source. _

_From the opposite side of the cave, somewhere in the blackness, I hear another voice, "Hello Gilbert."_

"_Sara, is…is that you honey? I can't see you." I squint in an effort to pierce the shadows surrounding me. I force myself to_

_move away from the light and closer to her voice, closer to Sara. I reach out into the darkness and the rope slips from my _

_fingers, falling to the ground. It lands with a thud and spews droplets onto my leg. "Sara, where are you?" I call out. _

_"Follow my voice, I can help you."_

"_I'm right here…," she says. But she is interrupted by the unknown voice. "Gil, can you hear me?" _

_I fight off the fear and move further into the cold underground dwelling. My shoulders and neck are aching from the _

_continual strain of leaning forward. I call out into the darkness, "Sara, how did you get here?" The bats begin to screech _

_louder, the sound of rocks hitting the floor begin to create panic in my mind. "Sara," I call out, "the walls are crumbling. _

_Run to my voice honey…run to…" My body is shaking from the vibrations of the cave collapsing around me, around us._

"Gil….Gil, wake up." Jim reaches in to shake Grissom. "Gil, can you hear me? Wake up." Jim surveys the room. A glass lies on the

floor, devoid of its contents. Grissom's pant leg is soaked with whatever had been in it. His head is tilted back in what looks like a

very uncomfortable position. His legs are crossed and tightly clenched. The surround sound is spewing sounds from a documentary on

the History Channel. "Gil…come on man, wake up. I've been ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door. I finally had to come

around back and just let myself in." The first sign of consciousness from Grissom is a furrowed brow and the clenching of his neck.

"I'll make coffee." Jim says.


	4. Chapter 4

**Deadening the Pain**

What's the difference between and Alcoholic and a Problem Drinker? - A Problem Drinker is an Alcoholic I care about - old saying in AA

There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance – that principle is contempt prior to investigation. – Herbert Spencer

**A/N: **I struggled on this chapter. Even my Beta realized I was missing direction. Enabling someone is the easy way out, having the strength to hold your ground is difficult. Life was never meant to be easy. Thanks Cheryl for keeping me on task.

* * *

While I gather my senses, Jim is in the kitchen tapping his fingers on the counter waiting for the coffee to brew. "Hey, did I ever tell you the time I confronted Sara about her," motioning both hand in the air to mimic a quotation, "drinking problem?"

"Jim, I don't have a drinking problem, and neither did she," I say defensively.

"Well, whatever," he says dismissively. "Anyway, I am going to tell you the same that I told her," he says sliding a cup of hot black coffee in front of me. "There're more problems than answers in the bottom of a bottle." Jim sits down and watches me from across the table.

The silence is deafening. "Jim, all I need to do….all I _want_ to do is, rest," I say, finally breaking the searing stillness. "Rest in peace," I mutter under my breath.

"Hmmm," Jim replies. "It appears to me you are trying to deaden the pain or cover up the memory of her."

Instead of replying, I reach for the remote and change the channel to the news just as the reporter begins his dialogue.

_A local cemetery was vandalized two nights ago. The grave of Janis Tarpin, who was killed in a tragic motorcycle accident a week ago, was unearthed by unknown individuals. We are told this is the second event of this nature in the past month._

"Damn," Jim let out with a sigh shaking his head at the newscast. "I was hoping for more time before John Q. Public found out." Not one to be so easily diverted, Jim turns back to me. "Gil, how long have you been boozing yourself to sleep?"

"Since I stopped crying," I answer. "And I don't sleep anymore, I rest. I gave up on sleep a month ago."

Jim lets out a sigh. "Working double and triple shifts can mess with a person's sleep clock. On top of that, the alcohol, which at first seems to help you sleep, actually causes more disruption."

"If I sleep, I may miss her call. If I rest, then I'm sure to hear the phone ring," I say trying to rationalize.

"True, there is a difference between the two. But, in fact, what I just witnessed was sleep, a deep sleep at that." Brass lifts his cup to his lips for a long swallow of the now tepid coffee. "You were unresponsive. I am surprised that Bruno didn't wake you up with his barking when I was banging on the door. You have to get a grip on this….this issue."

"Jim, I am not an alcoholic if that's what you're worried about. I'm perfectly aware there could be a problem, but I don't intend to let it get out of hand. I have seen the devastation that alcoholism can do." I stand and move to the sink, staring out the window.

Jim rises to follow me, "Then quit. Just stop now. Don't pour another drink for thirty days".

"Not a problem," I say firmly. "I've got to get a shower; see you at work".

Jim stands before me with the fiercest look I have ever seen. He sets his cup on the counter and moves to the door. "You know," he said as he pauses to pull the door open, "call me if you need….anything".

"I will," I say as I walk him to the door.

With my head pounding from the lack of alcohol I strip down to sit in the shower.

_A mist of rain feels warm on my face. Droplets of water spiral through the curls in my hair. Under me, a cool smooth stone bench supports me as my feet feel the trickle of water. I hear the tiny chirp of fledgling birds in the distance. Relaxation, total relaxation. _

"_Gil," I hear in the distance. "Are you there?"_

"_Sara?" I say, "I'm right here."_

_Sara's voice sounds as warm as the sun breaking through the mist. "I'm sorry I missed you."_

"_Missed me? I'm right here," I call out. "Where are you?"_

_I hear her sigh. "I'll try you in hell."_

_In hell, I think, what do you mean in hell? A shiver of cold runs through me. "Sara," I feel myself screaming now, "where are you?" She's gone. The mist has turned cold. The stone beneath me is hard and my back begins to ache. I feel myself convulse as I shout, "Sara!"_

My eyes squint against the light. I look around and realize I am on the floor of my shower. My legs feel numb as I pull myself up. Turning the water off, I reach for the towel and dry myself. I wonder how long I was in the shower. I contemplate doing the math based on my forty gallon hot water tank and then realize how tired that makes me. Looking to my left, I see the red light blinking on the answering machine in the bedroom. With apprehension, I walk over press the play button.

"Gil, are you there?" There is a slight pause then Sara continues, "I'm sorry I missed you." I can hear her sigh in the background. "I'll try your cell."

I run to the living room where I left my cell. The screen shows one missed call.


	5. Chapter 5

**Deadening the Pain**

Addiction is often said to be a disease of denial but it is also a disease of regret. When the addictive process has lasted long enough and penetrated deeply enough into the life and mind of the addict, the empty space left by the losses caused by progressive, destructive addiction is filled up with regrets, if-onlys and could-have-beens. In early addiction the addict tends to live in the future; in middle and late addiction he begins to dwell more and more in the past. And it is usually an unhappy, bitterly regretted past.

Published by Floyd P Garrett, M.D., for Psychiatry and Wellness.

**A/N:** My Beta, of course is the best Beta in the world….well, at least to me. Thanks Cheryl.

* * *

Photos of the crime scene lie before me on the layout table. Along with a map of the cemetery, there is a chronological list of the names of the deceased ordered from most recently buried to last. Dotted lines on the map indicate the path the perps took in and out of the scene. In my mind I see the footprints. Shallow indentations, close together, on the way into the cemetery indicate they were walking to the grave. Deeper impressions with longer strides leading away tell me they were running.

Picking up the close up shot of the entering footprints I notice a half moon curve just adjacent to one of the footprints. I arrange all the photos of the 'walking" footprints side by side and see that flanking each right foot is a similar marking. The length of the arc and the depth of the radius are slightly different, but still made by the same tool. I hurriedly grab the corresponding exit photos to see if the same arc is there.

"One of them came with a shovel but left empty handed," I say out loud.

I ring up Jim on the Nextel. "Jim, there is a good probability that the shovel used to dig up the grave is still in the cemetery. I'm headed over there now."

"I'll meet you there, Gil." Jim replied.

I'm the first to arrive at the crime scene. I move about the headstones with my flashlight scanning over the sacred descriptions etched in each one.

_In Loving Memory of…_

_Entered into rest…_

_The song is ended, but the melody lingers on…_

The beam of light jumps creating shadows as I move away from the scene in a circular pattern. A cool breeze begins to blow. I pause for a moment closing my eyes, taking in the crispness of the night. Opening my eyes again I find the beam of my light has found its way to another headstone. Focusing on the etching, I read;

_The past is history. The future, a mystery.  
But we will hold dear our memories of Sara.  
Her smile, the sound of her laughter will be with us forever_.

I kneel down next to the headstone and place my hands on the cold lettering. Tears well up in my eyes, my heart pounds in my chest, "God Sara, I'm not dealing with this well," I confess. "The words in your letter reached into my heart and tore caverns in the flesh. My own self absorption told me to hate you for leaving me in such a way. But I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. The terror I feel has driven me to do things I would have never done if you were still here with me. If-only I could have talked to you."

Bright light in my face stops the words that are pouring out of me. "Gil", I hear Jim say as he lowers his light. "Don't dump _your_ problem on Sara leaving," he says sternly. "Sara didn't fall into a hole of self pity. She realized she had a problem and despite what you may think, she was saving you….your relationship, by leaving."

I stand and brush off my slacks. "We are looking for a spade with an arc radius of approximately six inches," I say, dismissing his comment. "I've got not evidence they dropped the shovel during their escape, but I've got nothing to tell me they didn't."

I take a step around the headstone that threw salt into the open wound of my grief. "I have swept in a circle up to this point and haven't found anything," I say moving the light from my flashlight back to the original grave site.

Jim and I walk slowly rotating the beams of our lights back a forth over the grass. Less than twenty minutes later, Jim spots a wooden handle protruding from behind a headstone.

"I suspect that's not a walking cane," Jim says freezing his light on the handle. "The dead don't walk".

"Try to convince Stephen King of that," I say snidely.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N; At the appropriate moment I will be asking you to leave this page and go to my profile. FanFiction does not allow links to the outside world **within** the content of a story (darn it), but I wouldn't want you (the reader) to miss her call. As water needs to be pushed over the edge of the falls, so must I. Thanks to my Beta for throwing me a life jacket. Also, thanks to my wonderful readers, recovery is a long road so, pack a sandwich.

**Deadening the Pain**

In many cases the addict responds to negative feedback from others about his addiction by following the maxim of "Attack the attacker." Those who confront or complain about the addict's irrational and unhealthy behaviors are criticized, analyzed and dismissed by the addict as untrustworthy or biased observers and false messengers.

– "Addiction, Lies and Relationships" by Floyd P Garrett, M.D.,

* * *

How does a person drive from location to location and not remember the distance between the two points? I think to myself pulling into the parking lot of the lab. I feel my phone vibrate against my hip; the display reads _one missed call_. "Damn dead zones," I say, truly aggravated with the cellular service in Las Vegas. Flipping the phone open, I dial my voicemail. 

**(please go to my profile and follow the link now)**

My heart stops, the earth stands still for a moment in time. Gravity has doubled and the force applied to my body feels like I am in free fall.

A feminine voice startles me back to reality, "To replay this message, press 1." With a trembling finger I follow her command.

"Sara….I…I…love you too," I say as her voice echoes around me.

"To save this message press 7…," b_eep. _"Message saved."

I get out of the car and take the shovel into the lab. Turning it in to Mandy for fingerprint analysis and comparison, I surrender to the clock that reveals the end of shift. Driving home my mind continues to replay the message over and over.

"She knows," I whisper to myself. "Damn it Jim!" I yell out loud, striking the steering wheel. "You didn't even give me a chance. Now she is under more stress _because __of YOU!_"

I enter the house and slam the door behind me. Subconsciously, I reach for a drinking glass and the bottle of bourbon. The first drink warms my throat as I fill the glass again. "I would have been fine if….", I trail off as the second drink reaches my lips.

_I watch Jim through the glass as he interrogates a young man accompanied by his lawyer. Jim stands, walks around the table and leans closer to the man. "We have your prints on the shovel that was found at the scene. How can you explain that?"_

_The young man looks over at his lawyer with pleading eyes. "My client says he was recently at a local building supply store looking to buy a shovel for personal use. He touched a lot of shovels. How can you prove that this one is not one of those?"_

"_Let us check the bottoms of his shoes. If the tread markings don't match, then he's clean." Jim says nonchalantly._

"_You are going to need a warrant for that," the lawyer rebuts._

"_Well, there is a problem with that. You see, the night shift supervisor Gil _**(Gil)**_ has been drinking and_ **(are you)**_ I don't think there_** (there?)**_ is a judge that will grant us one." Jim says._

_My mouth opens, my hands are frozen in my pockets. I think, "What the hell are you doing Jim?" I try to move to the door. "Why are you destroying me… and the case?" my mind screams. I am in a panic. Suddenly the lights in the interrogation room go dark. The glass between me and the inhabitants begins to fog. I slowly turn around to find that I am inside the interrogation room looking out. _

I jerk awake with a scream dying in my throat. Jim's voice is coming from the answering machine. "Gil…pick up….Look, Mandy had a hit on the prints from the shovel we recovered. She's been trying to call your cell. I'm going to get a warrant."


End file.
